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yesterday's words linger

like mother's food on my tongue

hours in the kitchen

infused with tired love

clean as coriander

and orange-sweet in the brewing stew

that is cooking, cast in flames

stove of my mind

yesterday's words linger

like when you miss her

and taste imitation, familiar,

dull mimicry

although memory isn't all too sure

what love is supposed to taste like

yet she passed down what you carry today

legacy, meticulous

following instruction engrained

by movement of her hands

Blackness carried

like firewood on our head

baskets of tired love

poured into what has passed

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